Tabula Rasa
by Grey Alchemist
Summary: Chuck has lost his memory. He has no idea who he is or who he can trust. The only thing he knows for sure is that some very dangerous people want him dead and some other equally dangerous people want him for ... well, he hasn't figured that one out quite yet.


_**Author's Note:**_ An advantage of writing fan fiction is that it is based on other already-established works. Your readers, for the most part, already know the characters you're writing about. That allows me to cheat, which I'm going to do. I am dropping you off at the end of this story; think of it as the third act of a movie. I enjoyed many of them, but, after reading origin story after origin story, the end is the only part of this I really wanted to tell. It's not a long one, but then, none of my stories really are. Chapter 2 will be up next week. So, read on, and I hope you enjoy.

**-0-**

**Call of the Unknown**

There was a ringing in his ears. It was all he was really aware of. Then, he was pressed up against something. The heat had been suffocating moments before; it felt like his lungs had been on fire.

It was hard to breathe. It was hard to think. A million images flashed through his mind, all with no discernable meaning. The ringing played on.

All he was aware of was the fluctuating static perpetually present in his field of vision.

His eyes were closed.

His ears felt wet, his nose, and, was he crying?

He was on his back.

That much he managed to conjure, at last.

The high pitch lingered…

With a pained groan, courtesy of his entire body protesting the move, he turned over. Slowly, he blinked his eyes open and he gingerly glanced around. He saw the world through a red tint before his vision cleared. It was bright. He was outside... where?

He found himself on the ground; singed grass all around. Burning chunks of debris scattered throughout … a yard.

He tried to push himself up off the ground. His vision narrowed and darkened, collapsing in on itself, a feeling of vertigo overtook him. The ground called to him, pulling him back with all its might.

He fell in place, dead to the world.

**-0-**

A chorus of disjointed sound welcomed him back to consciousness: the ringing was gone. Movement was difficult. He was in a bed, in a white room. His eyes were open for only a few fleeting moments before the darkness reclaimed him.

**-0-**

She was there again, checking up on him. She didn't know he'd woken. He wanted it that way. How he was able to pull it off? An answer to that would have to wait for a more favorable time.

A nurse, he concluded. The same one every time.

He was in a hospital, recovering, from what he could gather. He still hadn't managed to figure out from what. But the handcuff around his wrist told him it couldn't have been anything good. What the hell had happened?

Footsteps.

"Nurse, any change?" A male voice, he'd heard it a couple of times before.

"No, sorry. He's still not awake." She sounded young.

"It's been three days," the man responded. "Any idea when he might be up?"

No response.

"Fine, but as soon as he's up, let us know," the male voice spoke again. "He's our only suspect in that explosion and we have no idea who he is. It'd be nice to have some answers."

Having only the black canvas that was his inner eyelids to filter things through was frustrating. He had no idea what these people looked like. No idea where he was. But every fiber in him told him he needed to get out. The police, it seemed, wanted to get their hands on him and he couldn't let that happen. He had to find out what had happened to him.

Then it registered. _"We have no idea who he is…"_

Ever since he'd regained consciousness he'd been too busy trying to figure out the situation without getting caught. He'd been analyzing everything except for one thing: himself.

His mind started spinning, working through everything he could recall. It soon became very clear: he had no idea who he was.

"I have to go check on my other patients," the nurse responded, "but I'll keep that in mind."

A couple of seconds after the nurse departed, the man she had been talking to made his way out of the room, too. "I'll be back later; I'm not done with you…"

Once again, he was in his room, accompanied only by his many frustrating thoughts. He was hurt, badly. It would definitely hurt, but he had to go. He had to get somewhere safe… as soon as he figured out where that could be. The only thing he knew for sure was he couldn't stay in the room much longer. They would not doubt figure out he was awake soon and then he would be trapped.

His body tensed instinctively. The air in the room suddenly changed. He didn't know how, but he felt it, something was different.

Someone was there with him; but how? He hadn't heard any footsteps coming. He had to keep playing pos—

"I know you're awake." _That_ _voice. _"Come on, Chuck, let's not play this game."

The rapid eye movement started. He couldn't control it. What was happening? Where was all this coming from? Was his memory coming back? No. This was something else, another question to add to the pile. "Bryce Larkin," he said calmly as he slowly opened his eyes. The complete visage of the man standing at the foot of his bed filled his sight. _FULCRUM, rogue spies, Larkin._ He didn't know how this all connected to him, but he did know that Bryce Larkin was dangerous, a killer; and _he_ was defenseless.

"Why so formal, buddy?" Bryce offered as he grinned, cold blue eyes looking on. "You've caused me a lot of trouble, Chuck." _Chuck?_ Was that his name? Why couldn't he remember? "I lost some good agents in that house." _House?_ "But it was all worth it, because now I have you, and I can finally put an end to this."

Chuck looked on, impassively, from his bed. He couldn't give an inch to this guy. He couldn't show any fear. Not that he was feeling all that much fear to begin with, which became more unsettling than the thought of dying.

"Don't think I'm not going to miss our cat and mouse games," Bryce said as he started to move toward Chuck, "but … I have people to answer to and they want you dead," he added, slightly shrugging his shoulders, "what are you gonna do?" A gun appeared in his hand.

"Bryce!"

Bryce's head swung around just in time to see John Casey arrive at Sarah's side just outside the door.

_Crap!_ That was not good. Casey had a tendency to want Bryce dead; he had the scars to prove it. He knew he was good, but even Bryce Larkin couldn't kill Chuck _and_ take on both Sarah and Casey at the same time, not if he wanted to get out alive. "Sorry, Chuck, gotta go!" he said as he ran for the window. "Catch ya next time, buddy!" The glass shattered as Bryce dove through.

Both Casey and Sarah ran after him but, by the time they reached the window, Bryce was gone. No sign of him. Three floors up, that kind of impressed Casey, not that he was ever going to admit that to anyone. Instead, he just growled. "Damn, he's gone. What the hell happened back at that house, Bartowski?"

From his bed, Chuck lay motionless, watching the events unfolding before him. Hoping for any insight he might stand to gain. All he had was two more strangers in his room he seemed to know a lot about . . . somehow. First, it had been all about the tall blonde. Then as soon as he saw the big, gruff guy, he started to know things about him, too. What the hell was going on? What was he involved in? They seemed to know him. What did it say about him that everyone around him was turning out to be a vicious killer? He wondered. At least these two worked for the government and they did chase away the guy trying to kill him. That was something . . .

"Hey! Bartowski!" Called the big guy again.

Chuck snapped out of his thoughts to look straight at both of the other people in his room.

"Chuck, are you okay?" The attractive blonde asked.

_Now_, _what_? He thought. How was he going to get out of this one? They would want answers and all he had were questions. Chuck had a feeling they wouldn't take that well.

"I'm fine," Chuck responded. Not wanting to give anything away. He knew that behind that pretty face hid a dangerous killer.

"Good for you pinhead," Casey chimed in. "Now, what happened?"

"It was an ambush. Bryce was waiting for me. I barely got out." He took a shot and waited for their reaction.

"I knew you shouldn't have gone in alone," Sarah said. "I shouldn't have let you." _Interesting_, thought Chuck.

"Relax, Walker, look at him," Casey nodded, "the moron's fine." _That_ was interesting, too, he thought. Chuck had been staring. "What? Got something to say?"

"Huh? No," Chuck quickly shifted his gaze, "The explosion, you know, it's a little hard to hear right now." He tried to point to his ear but the handcuff yanked on his wrist, which reminded him, "Hey, can you guys do something about this?"

"I could, but maybe I'll just leave you here for the locals, teach you not to get caught," Casey replied with a smirk.

"Casey, come on," Sarah started, "we have to get out of here. Bryce could come back any moment with backup and we can't lose the Intersect."

_What the hell is the Intersect?_ That would have to wait. First, he really needed to get out of here.

"Fine," grumbled Casey. In one quick motion his gun raised and fired, instantly shattering the cuffs in half, freeing Chuck. "There…"

"Casey!"

"What?" He shrugged his shoulders.

"What was that?!" Sarah demanded.

"You said we need to get out of here, didn't you? Do you have a key? 'Cause I don't," Casey said as he pointed to himself with his gun.

"I could've picked the lock," she argued.

"Hmm … I guess you could have," he ceded. "Now you don't have to. Let's go."

Chuck blinked. Staring at his newly freed wrist, with half a cuff still attached to it, all he could think was, _crazy bastard's gonna kill me._

**-0-**

_**A/N:**_ For those of you that are still interested in my other stories, I appreciate the messages you've sent me and I'm trying; but like I've said before, I can't promise anything. It's taken me over a year from my last post to get this out, but seeing the recent activity on my stories motivated me to finish this one. It's amazing the effect a review has on a writer and I appreciate every single one of them. Even though I've stopped responding to them like I used to, I do see every one of them, along with favorites and follows, so thank you, they mean a lot.


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